Of Wings and Fire
by Lexi-Nou
Summary: He's not sure if it's the light or the way his head's been spinning but she looks like an angel and it scares him. One shot set after the end of 3x15


Daryl's dying. He hopes. His chest is caving in under an unbearable weight. It's like fingers gripping deep around his lungs squeezing him of his last breath. It's what he wants. What he wishes for. He hasn't made a wish so desperate since his sixth birthday and he saw that fire engine red BMX. Lying on his back looking up at the sky he wants nothing more. He's coated. Blood guts and gore and it burns his skin like acid all the way to his bones. He shakes and shivers, drips, and sweats little tiny beads of blood, with earth and flesh wedged beneath his nails. He's in hell. The only thing absent is the flames. 

* * *

They sit and wait. Time is ticking by and they can't hide their fears. It's been a while. Quite a while. It's not like him to not be back. He's reliable. Unpredictable but reliable and he always comes home. Rick strums his fingers on the cafeteria counter top and Hershel taps his crutch. Carol is cleaning and Carl is chewing the skin off the edges of his nails. Maggie and Glenn hold each other deeper whilst Beth counts silently in her head. She lost count around the 4 hour fifty stage.

"Maybe he found some dinner, deer or somethin'?" Carl offers, his voice hitting the room like a penny in a jar. Maggie's mouth twitches into what was supposed to be a smile but it slips and slides into nervous salt water that she presses into the creases of Glenn's shirt.

* * *

It's dark when his eyes flutter open. He can see stars and the moon and bugs above his head. He's not dead, nowhere near. He throws his fists into the earth beside him beating them hard, letting the ground vibrate with his anger. Where were the walkers when you wanted them? He wanted to be ripped apart, limb from limb except he laid their whole like some indestructible being whilst his brother, God Merle, lays not even half a man a few feet away.

Nausea strikes and he rolls to his side, spewing his guts and anything else that's in there alongside of him. The bile burns and he coughs and splutters, gripping the ends of grass blades between his fingers, pale and shaking. Fingers that held the knife that split his brother's skull. Heaving he hits out at the earth. Again and again and again he hits. He wants it to hurt, to feel something other than this ache in his heart because by God it's crippling and he needs it stop, it's almost too much.

He can't breathe, it's like running and trying to catch your breath, when the air can't reach and it's just empty. Caving in. He can't see for shit. Everything's a goddamn blur with all the water that keeps on spilling uncontrollably and hell he's got to keep himself together because he's not dead. No, not dead yet but Merle is and Merle wanted to live, he enjoyed the life even with all the chaotic shit. He got off on it and if Merle is lying dead and Daryl is alive then he can't just lie there and wallow like a little girl. He's got to get up, bury himself a brother and have a beer because that's what Merle would do and that's all that he has left. Memories and a feeling of him in his gut telling him to drag his pussy ass out of the gutter. Stop winging and whining like a little bitch and pull it together for he might be dead but he's still livin' and he's got to do it for the both of them now. For everyone. Show those suckers who's boss and give 'em all you got. Or at least go down trying.

* * *

"He'll come back." Beth says firmly her voice unwavering. She's not one for speaking, not out loud in front of everyone. Truth be told it kind of scares the hell out of her, having everyone looking at her, being the center of attention. She's not that type of girl. More meek and mild, sit in the middle of an isle in church just to kind of blend in but things had changed. She can't do that now, no mother's skirt to hide behind, no mother. Life has changed and she's had to change with it.

Step by step she's growing in confidence and in stature. No longer a little girl she stands before them on the cusp of womanhood, a few days away from her eighteenth birthday according to the markings that Hershel's made on the inside of his cell. She looks them all in the eye with such certainty and faith and she doesn't quiver because she truly believes. Her faith in God wavers from time to time, it's hard not to in a world where she knows exactly what happens when you die, but her faith in Daryl Dixon, that stays strong. He may not be anywhere near a saint but she has trust and belief in him, though she can't say why. It's just a feeling she's had growing. Starting off as a small pang in her stomach, it's now a big ball of fire that engulfs her heart.

She remembers telling Carol that they were weak without him and looking around now she could see it and oh it made her mad. Curling her dainty fingers into fists she cuts half shaped moons into her palms with bitten and chipped nails. No Daryl would return. They would not go down like this.

* * *

It's dark and cold when Rick calls for Glenn to open the gates. On watch in the dark he saw the glimmer of hope in the shape of a cross bow and leathered angel wings. Yes, Rick's been seeing things but of this he was certain. He was returning. They'd live to fight another day.

Relief in the prison is immediate. It floods through like a hail storm. They smile and slap each other's back as if they knew it all along and Carol has finally thrown in the towel, the place has never been so clean. They all gather, cluster around, to greet him, give him the hero's welcome he deserves but when Rick looks closer and then looks back they know that something's not right.

"He's alone." Hershel murmurs and Rick dips his head. Carol winces and Carl stiffens as the wounded man rolls on in. He stalks past them without even a glance, his eyes on a spot in the foreground somewhere beyond the prison walls. With his bow over his shoulder and a bloody knife in his pocket he says nothing but they hear it like a clap of thunder against the night's sky and it shakes them all to the core. Merle's dead.

"Someone should check on him." Glenn decides but offers are sparse. He's an angry man and angry men are dangerous men. A loose cannon.

"I could?" Carol offers but Rick shakes his head.

"He needs time. Space"

"What he needs is comfort." Maggie interjects, her hand wrapped tightly around Glenn's in support. Beth flinches as tensions rise; she can't take any more divisions. Wise words slip from the old man's mouth at the sight of unease in his youngest daughter.

"He's lost his brother he needs to process it in his own way. Whatever we do is not going to be right now." Exasperated Carol sighs, fingers ruffling her now silvering hair.

"So we just do nothing?" Beth thinks she's aged a lot the last few months as she watches the older woman who's struck by disbelief, her eyes heavy flickering towards the cell. "He's in there," she hisses low. "He's never in there. Calls it a cage." Beth chews at loose skin upon her bottom lip in thought. She nips it a little and it peels away with ease, a trickle of iron on the end of her tongue, she licks it clean when her mind makes a connection.

"Cages don't just keep people in, they keep other people out." She remarks softly. Shyly. Low eyed huddled up to her Daddy who looks down on her as if he wonders what exact moment she became so wise. He squeezes her knee and she nestles in close, inhaling the comforting scent that he still managed to carry despite the dirt and grime.

It was moments like these that she was truly grateful, for her Daddy, for Maggie. For the others and all that they had done to keep it that way – Rick, Glenn. Her stomach knots when she thinks what it must be like for Daryl. How deep it would cut her to lose her sister or her Pops. She looks at Carl and at Rick and marvels with appreciation at their bravery, their courage, their skill to carry on. She knows deep down she's not as strong as them as her finger traces the silvery scar upon her wrist but she thinks, she hopes she getting stronger.

* * *

There's a silence out there beyond his head, Daryl knows that as he sits in the quiet moonlight, back against the cold brick wall, starring out through the cells bars. He knows its night and the block is quiet but his head is busy. Words tumble like a continuous waterfall against his skull and things don't seem to be making much sense. They haven't for a while. Not since he came back alone a few days ago.

He hasn't done much, anything in fact. Stayed inside, right here in this spot, barely found the urge to breathe. He hasn't been bothered, not by anyone and he figures that he's not bothering them, tucked up and hauled away, he keeps himself to himself. It's rather dark all the time now. He's at a point where he can't see the sun. It feels like a big grey cloud sits over his head and he couldn't shift it even if he tried. His shoulders are heavy and his body's tired and he's not quite sure of what to make of things anymore. He's scared. He's hurt yet at the same time numb? He feels like he should share that with someone, Hershel maybe? Carol? He thinks he's tried once or twice, to try and find his feet, search them out and sit down with them but sometimes that seems like a dream and he's not too sure. The only things he's sure of now are that he's Daryl Fucking Dixon and that he's never felt more alone.

* * *

Judith cries and sometimes it's hard to get her to stop but Beth's been doing a pretty good job of it. Sometimes it feels like the only thing she is good at. Her aim with a gun is dire and she hasn't the guts to try a bow. She cuts her fingers on knives when making dinner and her stick thin arms can't manage the weight to swing a bat but she can hold a baby close, cradle it in her arms, whisper words and stroke its forehead and it works. Carol's always complimenting her, calling her a natural and telling her it's a gift but what Beth really wishes is that she had the skill to save them all, to swing a sword or shoot straight. Even Carl is higher up the rank than she. In fact, she decides she's probably the most useless of them all and it doesn't sit right, not when there's a war coming.

Singing softly with Judith in her arms she walks the corridors which line the cells back and forth keeping her rhythm even and feet light so not to disturb the nearly sleeping babe. The others are sleeping. All tucked up in their cells whilst Glenn keeps watch. She smiles at them laid out safe and sound. She likes the prison at night, when the world is quite and she can hear the soft sound of them breathing, it's her own comforting lullaby.

She looks in on the last cell and nearly squeals when she meets a set of muddy eyes staring blankly in her direction. So light and lost they almost look through her but Daryl's lips twitch uneasily. Hunched on the floor, knees to his chest, he looks small, half hidden in the shadows. Beth contemplates walking on by, ignoring the gaze that causes a shiver to her spine, head back to her cells and keep her distance. In Beth's gut there is that feeling, the one that expands around her heart; when she looks at Daryl it reaches outwards to him and she finds she helpless to her hearts will when her feet move forward without hesitation.

* * *

He wonders what she's doing there, the blonde Greene girl, standing silently at the end of his cell, Judith in tow. The image before him makes him blink because he's not sure if it's the light or the way his heads been spinning but she looks like an angel and it scares him, this ethereal creature with skin like milk and eyes like sapphires. So simple and pure, he's never noticed it before. Never noticed her. Not quite like this. It makes his mouth dry and heart pound.

She steps closer, softly like she's walking on snow and he can hear the gentle hum of music from her full cherub lips. It sounds like a church hymn. It's rather beautiful and it stills him, like Judith he wants to close his eyes, get lost in her melodic murmurs but whenever he does he's haunted. Images of a monster that looks like Merle are burnt into the back of his eyelids. It's a nightmare that he can't awake from because he's lived it and it still remains. Piece by piece he's tortured by tiny details, sounds and smells and they won't leave him alone.

He groans, as she gets closer, torn between this heaven and hell. He's conflicted. He's confused. He's sure as hell going crazy.

"Hey," she calls. "Mind if I sit a while?" it's the most she's ever said to him and he can't even do her the courtesy of answer. He fears if he opens his mouth all that will leave are sobs or screams. So Daryl stares straight ahead as if she wasn't there.

They sit for sometime, he's not sure quite how long. Time seems to be blurring and slipping him by. He's still lost somewhere back where Merle was feasting on some poor souls insides. Beth hasn't said another word and he still can't find one so it's been quiet for them both and he wonders if she minds. He don't mind too much. She's just a girl and she ain't doing nothing. But she is, doing something. To his insides. His heart. It don't seem to be racing like it was and his lungs are lifting taking full amounts of air.

The way she smiles when she looks at the babe makes his muscles ease from their tense state and when he inhales he thinks he can smell roses though he's not sure how.

"Well then." She breathes pulling herself to her feet and heading off as if this has been the most perfectly natural way to spend a night. "Good night." She flashes pearly whites and waves the baby's hand and before he can swallow she's gone.

* * *

It's become a habit. One Daryl secretly doesn't want to break. She walks in at night, sometimes with Judith and sometimes alone, and sits her petite frame down beside him. Together they let time pass them by.

"You know," she begins one night when it's hot and heavy and she's sweating in just her cami. "We could throw talkin' into the mix." A sweat forms on Daryl's brow as he looks into her bright blue eyes that call to him like the ocean. "I'll start."

He's gotten her wrong. Good God the girl can talk. In fact she rarely stops. She talks about home, the past, the future, of a field full of Daisies and Maggie's secret love of sewing. She tells him about the outside world, of the threat of the Governor still looming and how it makes her skin crawl. She looks at him when she speaks of Woodbury and the horrors that have happened. She looks at him with some hope in her eyes, making wishes on stars that he might be the one to save them all. He wants to tell her that'll it be ok, because truth be told he's rather fond of the little Farm girl and her ways but he's not sure if he can say such things yet, when he hasn't really said anything at all.

"You know it would have been my Ma's birthday tomorrow." she states with a heavy sigh. He shakes his head just a little, just so she knows he's listening. "I would have baked her a cake."

* * *

Daryl's restless. She's late. Or worse, she's not coming. He paces his cell and peers through the bars but Beth is no where to be seen. He's spied Carol with Judith, bouncing her on her knee, whilst Glenn is losing against Carl at cards and Rick can barely keep himself from laughing. Maggie is with Michonne, with a ring on her finger and a twinkle in her eye and Hershel has his book. But Beth-

He watches them leave and say goodnight, and he scoffs as he thinks of the Waltons. Still there is no sign and sweat pours in long line drips down the center of his spine, soaking his shirt. He hears the hobble of one leg and crutches climb the metal stairs and it draws him to the cell door. The old man looks well, he's quite surprised. He's still going strong. He's made of tough stuff that's for sure. Daryl thinks that maybe it has something to do with the brown leathered bible under his arm but he thinks it's probably Beth. His own lip curls whilst he contemplates how he's managed to let a pint-sized princess get under his skin so.

"You alright there son?" Hershel's call catches him off balance. He blushes and stutters, stumbles a little, scratches at his stubble and shakes. The old eyes are expectant and time is ticking. With a deep jittery breath he steps on out and he's surprised that he's not struck down when he steps further away from the steel. He's safe.

"Lookin' for Beth." He breathes the blush still strong as he shuffles sweating, like some kind of shamed school boy. There's a knowing look upon the wrinkled face and Daryl's shocked that it's not a frown.

"She's in her cell. Not doing too well today."

* * *

He puts together the pieces when he remembers her words and sees her lying still beneath the tattered cotton sheet, tears stains on her pillow, an old photograph at her feet. She lifts her eyes and they're bloodshot red, dark circles have spread out upon on her skin and her lips are peeled and raw. It hurts to see. He feels it in his heart, a painful stab at her sadness.

He's not sure what he's doing, it doesn't come naturally to him like it does for her but follows in her footsteps the best he can and settles his back against the wall. She shuffles herself free from the sheets in an instant and sinks down low to the floor beside him. With her mat of dirty gold hair against his shoulder he stiffens slightly.

"Sometimes," she starts, as quiet as a mouse, her finger tracing along the silvery scar that makes him the saddest of all. "I get sad." He watches as she closes her eyes with a grimace as if she's reliving it all over again, a tremble that shakes her from her head to her toe. It unnerves him to see her so. It makes him grab her tiny hand, pull it free from her fingers and hold it steady against his thigh. It burns, the feeling of skin on skin. It's a forest fire rampaging throughout his entire being but the truth is he kind of likes it, especially when he sees it flicker in her when she looks up at him through thick dark lashes.

"It's alright." He finally says with their fingers entwined, her eyes bulging engulfing the flame as his stare shows no sign of breaking. "Everythin' is gonna be just fine."


End file.
